My body was not made for your enjoyment. My body was not formed in the image of your fantasy, or a picture of perfection. My body is not a fool’s paradise. My body was not made for your amusement. My body was not made for you to pillage and plunder, or even to covet or caress. My body was not made to be weighed and measured like a hunk of meat. My body was not made to be punished. My body is not a prison. My body was not made to be whipped into submission or whittled down into a pre-prescribed size or shape. My body was not made to be tamed or tampered with. My body is not a kit of doll parts mindlessly assembled. My body is not an enemy to conquer. My body is not yours to trash talk and my body is not yours to pin up. My body is mine.
My body is a miracle. A serendipitous, marvelous thunderclap, a cosmic crash of somatic stardust.
My body burst forth into bloom from a single cell. My body is SUPERnatural. superNATURAL. SUPERNATURAL. My body is layers upon layers of magic. There is wisdom and wonder to be coaxed out of every crease. There is divinity in my body. My body is a blessing. Every bit of it. Even the so-called imperfections and unjustly labeled blemishes. It’s crooked bits, it’s hard edges and soft sections and storied scars, a patchwork of remembering, an archive, a journal tracing all the way back to my roots as a single-starborne-cell. My body is witness to all of it.
My body was made to walk barefoot beneath the night sky, my body was made to swim in the sea. My body was made to fit the shape of my soul (and not the other way around). My body was made to sing. My body knows things. My body was made to conceive and manifest. My body was made to bring forth light, and life. My body has gifted me with eye-opening illnesses that became pathways to transcendental change. My body has bestowed upon me the humbling honour of motherhood.
My able body is a lucky break. A windfall from the heavens. Good fortune in the form of breath, a pulse, a rhythmic womb, legs that run wild, sharp eyes, and vital strength. My body is my constant companion. My trusty steed. A source of wisdom and knowing. My body is self-luminous, heavenly, as in the sun, as in the stars. And so is yours.
Forget before-and-after photos, dress sizes, measuring tapes, bathroom selfies, scales, calories and kilojoules. Who really gives a fuck. Are you alive? Are you made of stars? Yes. Yes. That is enough. You are enough. Your body is enough. And more than that- your body is yours. ENJOY it. Fall at its feet. Give yourself over to its wisdom. Show your body your immense gratitude. Pay your RESPECTs. Throw up the white flag. Throw your shoulders back. Tilt your chin towards the sky. Sway your hips. Trip the light fantastic. You are not your height or your weight or your BMI. You are made of stars, dammit.
HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMENS DAY to all of you marvelous women out there. Your ancestors are stars. Own that shit. SHINE.
